


Give All My Secrets Away

by morganoconner



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, Romance, Schmoop, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-09
Updated: 2011-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-18 05:58:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganoconner/pseuds/morganoconner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Castiel needs to stay with Dean while the hunter is vulnerable and unable to defend himself, he doesn't expect it to end with confessions Dean doesn't mean to give.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give All My Secrets Away

Castiel isn't sure what he expected to find, arriving at the motel room half an hour after Sam's desperate calls for him began, but he doesn't think it was this tableau: Dean on the bed, still as a corpse, breathing but just barely; Sam sitting next to him, pale and trembling and _begging_ for Castiel with every breath; and the spirit of a young boy in the corner of the room, knees drawn tightly up to his chest, arms wrapped around them, face hidden, and dark, purplish-blue swirls of energy that start somewhere at the child's back and curve down to rest against the floor, looking desolate and _sad_ in a way that energy should not be able to appear, even as it pulses and glows with a steadily-burning light.

"Sam? What happened?" Castiel asks, stepping forward.

Sam jolts, looking up quickly, and now Castiel can see that there are tear-tracks on his face as well. " _Cas_ ," he breathes, relief coloring his tone. "Oh, God, I didn't know what to do, he's just…"

"I need to know what _happened_ , Sam," Castiel says firmly, taking another step closer and placing a hand on Sam's shoulder.

Sam nods, closing his eyes and taking a breath and gathering his thoughts. "We were at a bar. This…woman… _witch_ , but we didn't know it then…recognized me. From…" He stops, shuddering beneath Castiel's hand, and the angel takes this to mean the year that Sam was walking around with no soul, and no big brother to keep his conscienceless self from getting into trouble. "She wanted me to…" He makes a hand gesture that could mean anything.

"She wanted you to…?" Castiel prompts. Sam flushes, looking deeply ashamed. "Ah. She wanted you to fornicate with her."

"…Right. But I said no, told her that last year was…a bad time for me, and she said…she said she knew what had changed, and if I was going to let something like a stupid soul get in the way, then she'd…"

Things begin coming together in Castiel's mind. "She had a spell to separate your soul from your body," he guesses, and Sam nods miserably.

"But Dean got in the way, the idiot. He threw me out of the way, and the spell hit him, and he dropped like a stone, and I don't know what to do, or if he's okay, or…"

Castiel's hand falls from Sam's shoulder, and his eyes go again to the child.

"Dean is all right," he tells Sam.

Sam's eyes widen. "He is?" he asks, his voice gravel-rough with hope.

"His spirit is here in the room," Castiel affirms, "though I did not recognize him at first." Because the spirit is childlike, innocent and scared, but now it makes sense. "I believe the spell was meant to be temporary. Long enough for the witch to get what she wanted before your soul snapped back. She'd have sensed the protections Death placed around it, and I don't think she'd want to chance bringing his anger on herself."

"He's…he's here?" Sam blinks those wide eyes at Castiel, then looks around the room as though he'll be able to see his brother, now that he knows to look.

"He is, and I'll speak with him, explain what's going on, but Sam, he's… He appears as a child. I believe it's an aspect of the spell, and it's why I think it was supposed to be temporary."

"So…" Sam's brow furrows. "So as he grows, the time winds down?"

"I believe so." Because now that Castiel's looking, the young boy appears to have aged already, at least two or three years since Castiel first laid eyes on him, though he still appears small and fragile.

"But he'll be okay?" Sam seems to need this reassurance above all.

"He will be. I'll watch after him in the meantime. Speeding the process could damage his soul, and I'd rather not risk it."

"No, of course not," Sam says quickly. He pauses, then asks, almost tentatively, "Hey, Cas? How come his body isn't awake? If she'd wanted me for… _that_ …shouldn't it be?"

Castiel hesitates. "Dean is different. A body can function without a soul, usually. But Dean's spirit – his consciousness, if you will – is bound to his soul. In Dean's case, one cannot be without the other."

"But…" Sam blinks. "How did that… Why is he different?"

Castiel looks to the indigo energy spread out around Dean. Energy that changes form and color with the mood of the child it's attached to. Energy that glows soul-bright and radiant when looked at a certain way. Energy that has taken form, appearing almost to look like _wings_. "Because Dean was stitched together after Hell with pieces of my grace."

~*~

Once he's ensured that Sam is asleep, Castiel quietly walks across the room, kneels down in front of the young boy, and says softly, "Dean? Are you all right?"

There's a flinch, and then very slowly, Dean's too-bright jade eyes open and he peers up at Castiel. To either side of him, the soul-energy twitches, brightens. "Cas?" the boy asks, his voice tentative.

Castiel nods, and then he suddenly has an armful of ten-year-old, Dean clinging to him tightly, his face buried in Castiel's trench coat, soul-wings coming up just slightly to curl around the angel.

Castiel is taken aback by the reaction. He would have expected Dean to be protective of his soul. To subconsciously keep it as out of reach to others as he possibly could while in this form. Instead, the warmth of the soul clings to Castiel as tightly as the boy himself does.

He holds Dean for a few long moments, not knowing what to say, but Dean takes care of that problem for him when his voice, muffled by the trench coat, reaches Castiel. "Thought you weren't gonna come back."

"What do you mean?" Castiel asks him, pulling back, just far enough that he can see Dean's face. "Of course I came." Dean looks down, doesn't answer. "Dean, are you afraid that someday I won't?"

"Maybe," the boy mumbles.

It never even occurred to Castiel that perhaps Dean could be unaware of this. The angel knows he misses things about human customs. He rarely says goodbye, he only appears sporadically, and typically only when the Winchesters have been calling for him for hours. But he'd thought Dean, at least, had understood that it was only because of the war, that if he _could_ be here with his friends all the time, he would be. Castiel gently grasps his arms, forces Dean to look at him. "Dean Winchester, I will always – _always_ – come back to you, for as long as I am welcome."

Dean flushes, glancing shyly back up at Castiel. Behind him, his soul pulses, glows warmly, now more royal purple than blue. "Promise?"

"I promise," Castiel says, and gathers the boy close again.

~*~

In the time it takes Castiel to explain to Dean what's happened, Dean's spirit has grown into a teenager, but he still sits close to Castiel, both of them cross-legged, backs against the wall as Castiel speaks. The soul-wings – as Castiel will probably forever think of them, after this – are curled close to Dean now, but every once in a while, the left one reaches out and brushes along Castiel's arm, sending a flash of heat through him that the angel doesn't understand, even as the skin of his arm pebbles with goosebumps.

"So Sammy's okay?" Dean asks, after Castiel finally thinks he has explained things fully.

"Sam is fine," Castiel reassures. "The spell never touched him, and he's only sleeping for the moment."

Dean glances at him. "Had to put the mojo on him, huh?"

"He seemed…unwilling to believe his getting rest would do both of you good," the angel says. "And as I had no plans to leave either of you unattended when you, especially, are unable to defend yourself, I did not think there would be any harm in it."

Dean nods and goes quiet for a moment, picking at the carpet and wearing an expression Castiel doesn't recognize. "Hey…Cas? How come…uh, well…why didn't you ever tell me before? 'Bout your grace?"

"I…" The truth is, Castiel hadn't known how Dean would react, had feared he would demand Castiel remove it or worse. "I thought you would be happier not knowing," he finally says, perhaps too honestly, because Dean flinches slightly. "It means nothing beyond that I gave a small bit of myself to save you, and I would gladly do it again. But I feared you would…think yourself indebted to me, if I told you. And I do not want that." It is as close to the truth as he can come, because he can't tell Dean how much that connection has come to mean to him, how it has given him something to hold onto when the war is at its worst points and he's left wondering if he'll survive to see the Winchesters one last time.

"Oh." Dean seems to contemplate that. "Well, I don't mind, if that's what you were afraid of. I mean I guess part of me might've, if you'd told me before, after Hell or whatever, but mostly… Just, thanks, Cas. For…caring, and stuff."

"Always," Castiel replies, without hesitation. He's staring intently enough at Dean to see when the teenager's face flushes, and when the energy that makes up his soul takes on a tinge of rose.

~*~

Dean appears to be in his early twenties when his eyes start to droop, after he and Castiel have been talking for several hours about nothing of consequence. "This sucks," he mutters, leaning his head against the wall. "So friggin' tired."

Castiel gazes at him worriedly. "I imagine it is a drain on your energy, what the spell is doing. I don't think it would harm you to rest, if you feel you need to."

"Scared to sleep," Dean replies, and Castiel thinks the only reason he allows it to slip past is because his eyes are already closed, and despite himself, he's slowly succumbing to the pull of sleep.

"I'll watch over you, Dean," Castiel says. "Your spirit is safe, here."

Dean breathes out, and his head drops to Castiel's shoulder seemingly against his will. "Always watchin' out for me," he mumbles, and is asleep half a moment later.

"Where else would I be?" Castiel wonders aloud.

The only answer he receives is Dean's soul, now a deep emerald green that almost matches the hunter's eyes, curving around him, as though Dean is protecting _Castiel_ while he sleeps, rather than the other way around.

~*~

It's nearly morning, dawn creeping across the horizon, birdsong beginning to drift through the cracked open window, when Dean wakes again. In his sleep, he's managed to situate himself so that his head is resting in Castiel's lap, his arms hugging the angel's legs and his soul-wings blanketing them both. Castiel has heard Dean complain often enough about 'chick-flick moments' that he's positive the hunter won't be happy when he opens his eyes.

Strangely, though, for the first moment or so after Dean becomes aware again, he doesn't move, and the colors swirling throughout his soul would almost indicate that he was…content. Even, possibly, _happy_. Sunshine yellow and periwinkle blue and, again, that small hint of rose.

Castiel's hand has stilled where it was carding through Dean's hair, and he holds in a breath he needn't have even taken, waiting to see what Dean will do.

When Dean sits up, he appears just as he had when Castiel saw him for the very first time, except that the taint of Hell has long since faded to a painful-but-distant memory. He's blushing, inching back from Castiel but not yelling, not making excuses, and when green eyes finally rise to meet Castiel's…

…his soul, the wing-shaped energy swirling out from behind him, flares brilliant, unmistakable _gold_.

"Mornin'," the hunter says, looking down again. The colors are already fading, back to yellow and rose, but Castiel knows what he saw.

Dean looked at him, and Dean _loved_ him, with everything that he is. For a fraction of a moment, Dean's defenses were down, and he allowed himself to feel… _that_.

For Castiel.

It's more than a revelation, it's… It's _everything_. Everything Castiel has never realized he was waiting for.

Dean is giving him a strange look now, and Castiel knows that he's been staring silently for too long, lost in this new awareness. He clears his throat, manages to say, "Good morning" back.

Raising an eyebrow, Dean smirks at him, and one wing curls around, nudging Castiel gently.

~*~

In the end, Dean's soul snaps back into his body exactly as Castiel had predicted it would, without further incident. He opens his eyes groggily, sitting up and blinking around. "The hell happened?" he asks, glancing over at Sam, still passed out on the other bed. "There was this chick…"

Castiel steps closer, pressing a finger to Dean's lips to quiet him, and Dean's eyes go very, very wide. "It was a spell designed to separate your soul from your body, just for a time, but you're safe now. And I assume you remember nothing."

Slowly, Dean shakes his head, still staring at Castiel.

"Then there are two things I should tell you before I must return to Heaven." Castiel takes a seat on the edge of the mattress, his hand falling to his lap as he faces Dean. Thankfully, Dean remains quiet. "The first is that I will always come back. No matter how many times I leave, or how long I'm forced to remain gone, I will _always_ come back to you. Do you understand?"

Dean makes a very small sound that could mean almost anything, but Castiel thinks it's an affirmative, given the way he's also swallowing hard and blinking rapidly.

"Good," he says, nodding. "And the second…" He leans forward, claiming Dean's lips in a kiss that Dean is far too shocked to return. When he pulls back, Dean's mouth is opening and closing soundlessly, and Castiel is wearing a very small smile. "The second is that I love you very much, Dean Winchester."

He vanishes in a rush of wingbeats, leaving a freshly awakened Sam to deal with the fallout. It's a wrench, pulling himself away and flying towards a place that stopped feeling like home a long time ago. But he thinks the memory of a shining, golden-tinged soul, and of the wonder in Dean's eyes, will keep him going through the rest of this seemingly endless war.

Now he has something to survive for, after all.


End file.
